


The Full Circle

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor wants to meet a werewolf and picks up a new companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Full Circle

Where to begin?

 _Where to begin the search for a mighty beast, a bloodthirsty monster which would rip him apart, bone by bone, tear his skin off his bones and lay bare the tendrils and muscles below; which would feast on him, on his flesh and blood, if only it got the chance, and which would leave the damp, shuddering remnants of his body to rot and wither, with the pale moonlight pouring over him?_

 _Was it possible to regenerate from a maimed heap of flesh? he wondered. It might be worth finding out, one day, when the burden of life got too much and the concept of eternal peace looked irresistibly appealing._

 _He didn't have much longer to go; deep in his bones, he could feel the end drawing nearer. For the past three incarnations, his bodies have been getting younger and fitter than their predecessors, as though his physical appearance was meant to become diametrically opposed to his decreasing life expectancy._

 _His new body remembered the experiences of his former selves, their thoughts and their feeling, but it didn't feel their needs and desires. He knew that his last body, the body that had survived the war and met Rose, had been suicidal to the extreme, and sometimes, he found himself probing his subconscious to find out whether that suicidal streak had survived the regeneration and was still leading him on, disguised as recklessness and the hunger for adventures._

And so it begins.

The basement was dark and damp. Silvery light was trickling in sluggishly through the narrow window under the ceiling, illuminating pale skin and lighting up yellowish eyes. The men and women in the room were restless, their naked bodies coiling and slithering around each other, against each other, driven almost mad with the powerful longing in their bones and the overwhelming fear in their souls. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat and soaked with the dampness rising from dozens of bodies.

Remus Lupin leaned against the grimy wall, breathing slowly through his mouth. The ritual was an invention of Fenrir's, who had convinced his pack that it was important to embrace the wolf and celebrate the moon. The strongest and fittest, those who knew the rules of the game, occupied the space beneath the window, waiting for the beam of light to hit them first. The weaker ones were desperate to get closer to the light, yet at the same time shying away from the contact with the alpha wolves. Whoever transformed first would attack the ones who were still human-shaped, and a werewolf could kill another werewolf, no matter which shape. The only chance for remaining unharmed was to keep out of their way until the change was completed.

The stones felt cold and slimy against his back, but their solid pressure offered an odd sort of comfort. He felt too resigned and too nauseous to fight for the best place under the window, quite apart from being appalled by the idea of becoming a crazed, instinct-driven creature even before the change set in, and so he remained standing still in the dark corner. He'd be among the last ones to change, and, if he was lucky, the others would by that time be busy fighting among themselves. There was one thing to look forward to: Tonight was a night-out for the entire clan. Not just selected members but the whole pack was allowed to leave the cellar and take part in the hunt. Remus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, clinging to his composure. His body was trembling with the effort of keeping still and quiet.

 _And then it began._

The moonlight hit the window and the men and women underneath gave one shrill, blood-curdling howl of pain. Ripped from human throats, it was even more horrifying than the howls that would ring across the woods later that night, when the pack set out for its run.

Dazed with fear and adrenaline, he heard rather than felt his bones creak and break and then rearrange themselves in the much too familiar shape of the wolf. When the change had hit him, he had been lying flat on the ground, the heavy form of another wolf on top of him, fangs bared and ready to rip open Remus' throat. But as soon as the wolf felt him transform, it let go and made for the door. The hunt was on.

Remus was the last one to creep out from the cellar. He crawled up the stairs and fell into a reluctant run, following the pack's trail. It was a dangerous game he was playing, and the stakes were even higher that night; if the other wolves, if _Fenrir_ ever found out that he had been drinking Wolfsbane on the nights preceding the full moon, he would be murdered instantly. He never told Dumbledore just how risky their plan was, and the old man had never asked. Remus suspected that Dumbledore would send him out in any case, even if Remus enumerated the dangers to him. And he had long decided that he preferred to fool himself by maintaining the illusion that the old man cared more for Remus' life than the Order's mission.

He started breathing more freely as soon as he reached the woods. Here, the pack was supposed to separate and each wolf was pursuing his or her own prey. Remus sat back on his haunches, raised his head and howled at the moon. His howl carried enough rage and frustration to sound convincing even to Fenrir's ears. After that, he padded over to an old fallen oak and curled up to sleep. Just before dawn, he would hunt down a deer or a rabbit so that he'd come back to the lair with his muzzle sufficiently bloody.

~*~

He woke up to the nagging, prickling feeling, as though someone was watching him. If it was Fenrir, he was as good as dead. He opened his eyes just a fraction, and closed them again almost instantly.

The world as seen through the wolf's eyes was a blur of greyish shapes which were hard to process by his human brain. Wolfsbane was not meant to make the wolf comfortable; it was meant to keep humans safe.

He tried to open his eyes again, even more slowly and more carefully than before, to prevent another wave of nausea. A shape began to emerge from the blur; a human shape. It seemed to be crouching a few feet away from Remus and, as far as he could tell, seemed entirely unabashed by what it saw. Remus curled his upper lip threateningly and gave a low growl, but even so, the human remained firmly in place.

Raising his head, Remus sniffed the air for a clue. The balmy night was carrying all sorts of smells, all of them more or less familiar to him, but one was standing out like a discord in a familiar melody. It was the scent of flesh and of blood, but it was unlike anything Remus had ever encountered before. His closest guess would be human, but it was unlike any human he had ever met. It certainly wasn't Veela, either, nor giant or half-giant, nor any other part-human he knew of. It was a scent that felt ancient in the same way that the inside of a pyramid felt ancient. It was an age beyond human imagination.

"Who are you?" he asked, so astounded that he forgot the shape he was in.

There was a shift in the stream of air as the stranger changed position and then one word, just one word floated towards Remus.

" _Beautiful._ "

~*~

The change hit him without a warning. One moment, he was lying on the ground in a warm heap of flesh and fur, the next moment, his flesh seemed to be torn apart as his limbs twitched in agony and his bones broke and re-grew, his fur withdrew, and he was thrown back onto the ground disoriented and dizzy. He lay there, panting, for a few heartbeats, and then he heard soft footsteps and felt warmth envelop him. He raised a trembling hand and felt soft fabric around his shoulders. A slender hand lingered against the nape of his neck and when it lifted, he felt the loss keenly.

"Who are you?" said a warm voice somewhere above his ear.

Remus breathed in and out a few times very deliberately until he felt he had brought his lips and tongue under control.

"I think the question is," he whispered, his voice so low and hoarse that the stranger had to lean it to catch the words, "the question is, who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor," came the prompt answer, delivered in a tone that told Remus unmistakably that the man would not allow any further questions regarding his identity. "Who are you, then?"

"Me?" Remus paused for a brief moment and when the absurdity of the situation registered, broke out in a laugh that hurt his raw throat. Rolling onto his back, he blinked up at the man leaning over him. "I'm the Professor."

His senses were always confused after the transformation, when his mind was still adjusting to the new body. But even though he still couldn't see clearly, Remus noticed the change in the man's expression as surprise, bemusement and then appreciation flickered across his face.

"Fair enough," the Doctor said and extended one hand. Remus hesitated for only a split second before he gripped it and let the Doctor pull him to his feet, holding the coat covering him firmly in place. "I've been looking for you."

~*~

Remus hadn't wasted his breath telling the man that going looking for a fully-fledged werewolf was dangerous to the extreme. The Doctor had the air of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, in the same way Dumbledore had. He hadn't told the man that he was supposed to go back to the lair with the other werewolves. Fenrir's pack could wait. This here was much more intriguing. Besides, making his way back through the woods naked and barefooted wasn't half as appealing as following the Doctor back to what he had called his "ship". Remus wasn't sure what he had expected - certainly not a shabby old Muggle police box - but when the Doctor opened the door and beckoned him inside, he stepped in without hesitation.

The fact that it was larger on the inside didn't surprise him. The dimensions did.

"It's, um, _very_ big, isn't it?" he said, looking around. "It gives the impression of containing an almost endless number of rooms."

The Doctor seemed impressed. "Very good. Humans aren't usually capable of appreciating the TARDIS at a first glance. Most often they're shocked more than anything."

Remus shrugged. He was cold and exhausted, and his throat hurt. He wasn't in the mood for being patronised by a-

"Look," he said, "what are you?"

"'What'?" the Doctor repeated. He had walked across the room and had positioned himself behind the instrument console. It began to pulsate gently as his fingers stroked over its surface. "I was a ‘who’ a few minutes ago."

"You already answered the question of who you are. You're the Doctor, apparently." Remus sighed and adjusted the coat around himself in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. It fit remarkably well. They must be within a few inches in size. "But you're not a human. So what are you?"

"You can tell that I'm not a human?"

Remus sighed again. "Even if this ship of yours wasn't a dead giveaway - yeah. I can tell that you're not a human. I've got what you could call special abilities."

"I can see that."

They both fell silent, measuring each other with wary eyes. The Doctor had pushed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and was staring at Remus unblinkingly; motionless, he didn’t appear to be breathing. In contrast to his poised calm, Remus felt agitated, his chest rising and falling with sharp inhales and exhales of breath, his entire body painfully taut, dirty. He had shed the wolf’s body, but had retained the filthiness of the beast, the uncontrollable tangle of animal instincts pulsing beneath his skin, pushing him to breaking point.

“I’m a Time Lord.” The Doctor’s voices floated in just in time. Remus blinked once, twice, and when he spoke, his voice barely shook.

“A Time _Lord_?”

The Doctor nodded. “That’s what my race is called.”

“By whom?” That was familiar territory. He had spent most of his life dealing with conceited egomaniacs. “Did you give you that name yourselves?”

All of a sudden, the Doctor flashed a grin. “Don’t you like it?” It was almost flirtatious.

“I can’t say I’m too fond of people who call themselves “lord”,” said Remus.

“Ah. A true republican. And that in a country that clings to monarchy even in the 21st century.” The Doctor frowned. “Speaking of which: What year is it? Is Harry on the throne yet, or is it still Elizabeth II?”

“Harry?” It had been like a punch in the gut. “What are you talking about?”

‘You didn’t expect that, did you?’ the Doctor’s face said very clearly, his brown eyes shining with glee. He was dancing around the console. “Do you want to see?”

In one breathless moment, their eyes met, and Remus nodded.

~*~

“You didn’t expect that, did you?” the Doctor asked when they were standing in front of a Muggle shopping window on a cold December evening in 2024, watching the King’s Christmas Message. “You looked positively shocked when I told you.”

“I know someone called Harry; your words took me by surprise.” Remus never took his gaze off the screen. He felt the Doctor’s presence by his side, their shoulders almost brushing. “What happened to his elder brother?”

“Plane crash,” the Doctor explained. “Put the whole country in mourning for months. First Lady Diana – and what a lovely lady she was, I remember when I first met her, at that a yacht party, she could mix a margarita that took your breath away – and then young William. People thought the family was cursed.”

“Perhaps they were,” said Remus. He tore his gaze away and looked the Doctor straight in the eye. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. “Do you know anything about that sort of thing?”

“Me?” Remus shook his head. “No.” He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m freezing. Let’s go back.”

“Where do you want to go now?” the Doctor asked, rather breathlessly, as Remus found. His eyes were huge and shining.

“Where _can_ I go?”

“Anywhere you like!” The Doctor was _old_ , Remus had to remind himself; it was difficult to remember when you saw him like that, all bounciness and boyish excitement. “I can show you any place in the universe!”

It was just too tempting. Remus took a deep breath.

“Anything,” he whispered. “Show me anything.”

~*~

“Careful!” Stopping with his hand on the handle, the Doctor pressed his palm against Remus’ chest. “The gravity field on this planet is very weak. You’ve got to be careful so you don’t rise up into the atmosphere and get lost in space.”

Remus nodded. “And how do I do that?”

The Doctor grinned. “Stay with me.”

Staying with the Doctor was easy. It was also inevitable. The planet on which the Tardis had landed was tiny; he could see the curvature of the globe beneath his feet, his head was in dizzying heights, where the atmosphere was thin and where he could almost stretch out his hand and touch the darkness above him. He felt weightless, and lightheaded; it would be no effort at all to float off – all he had to do was jump, and he’d disappear in the endlessness of the universe.

A light touch on his arm brought him back. The Doctor was staring up at the skies, enchanted. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“What is it?”

“The smallest planet in the universe that has a gravity force strong enough to keep a humanoid life form grounded.”

“Amazing,” breathed Remus.

The Doctor slipped his hand into Remus’. “Come on, then. How about a walk around the planet?”

~*~

The idea had sounded utterly bewitching: leaving everything behind, leaving Fenrir, and Voldemort, and Dumbledore, and Harry, and the whole bloody war behind, and jumping into a time machine instead, one that would transport him across the universe. The Doctor had promised to bring him back to the exact moment they had met, but Remus wasn’t sure that it was what he wanted. Waking up in the forest, shattered and sore, hadn’t been exactly one of the high points in his life.

“How often can you go back to a point in time, then?” Remus asked the Doctor. The question had been on his mind for days, but what with all the travelling through time and space, witnessing strange worlds erupt and alien creatures try to kill and eat them (“They’re usually not so aggressive, I must have picked that one week when they undergo metamorphosis, it always makes them tetchy,” the Doctor had said after they had reached the safety of the Tardis and he had let go of Remus’ hand.), there never seemed to be time for a proper conversation. Oh, the Doctor talked a lot. But Remus could spot avoidance tactics a mile off. He waited, patiently, till he estimated that the Doctor might let down his guard, and suggested...

“London in 1899?” the Doctor “What do you want to do in London in 1899?”

Remus shrugged. “Go out for a meal. Have a couple of drinks. Enjoy that famous fin de siècle atmosphere.”

“Ooh, wait till you see the Y2K panic!” said the Doctor. “The entire Western civilisation will be shaking in fear of the Millennium Bug!”

“What, some kind of insect out of space?” The experiences of the past few days have taught Remus to expect the most unlikely threats, ones that made Voldemort seem like a harmless gibbering idiot with a wand that was too big for him to handle.

“No, it’s got something to do with how your computers operate. You humans assume that they can’t tell whether it’s 1899 or 1999.”

Computers were part of the world Remus had left behind years ago, and he let it pass. He fell in stride with the Doctor, who was strolling through the narrow alley at his leisure; in his long coat, he looked almost not at all anachronistic. Remus himself had opted for a long Victorian cloak, which made him feel comfortably as though he were back in wizard robes.

“How about this one?” he said, stopping in front of a shabby brick facade. The Doctor frowned, and Remus suppressed a grin at the sight of the usually so superior expression making way for puzzlement.

“This one, eh?” the Doctor said softly, flattening his palm against the brick wall and then running his fingers delicately along the creaks. “I can feel something’s supposed to be here.” He tilted his head. “But it’s trying to escape me.”

A large woman in a thick cloak almost bumped into him, and Remus stepped to the side to make way for her. It took him right into the Doctor’s personal space, and he expected him to budge, but he didn’t. And so, instead of stepping back, Remus raised his hand and placed it beside the Doctors, guiding him to the spot where the wall of the Muggle house met the wall of the Leaky Cauldron. Watching his profile, he saw the Doctor’s eyes widen as his sense of touch told him what his eyes refused to process.

Behind them gathered a herd of ragged street urchins. A grim-looking policeman approached the scene, but before he could start asking awkward questions, the Doctor straightened up and grinned at him.

“Good afternoon, Constable!” he said cheerfully. “We’re just two wealthy and eccentric Victorian gentlemen who really like to touch stones a lot.”

Remus rolled his eyes. It was like hanging out with James and Sirius again, only slightly more insane. He fumbled for the door knob and, pushing open the door to the tavern, pulled the Doctor inside.

The low-ceilinged, dimly lit room was the same as ever; behind the bar, Remus spotted a young wizard who, despite looking young and spruce, couldn’t be any other than Tom. A middle-aged witch in a revealing robe pushed her way through the throng of witches and wizards who were hunching by the low tables, eating fish and chips, shepherd’s pies and bangers and mash whilst drinking butter beer and whisky out of old-fashioned mugs. The Leaky Cauldron was more crowded than Remus had ever seen it. A crackle of magic hung in the air; he had missed it, even though he had been gone only a few days. Theoretically. Travelling with the Doctor, you never knew. He could have gone months, years, for all he knew. It had been exhilarating: travelling to words that didn’t know the pull of the moon, being free, for the first time in over thirty years, of the monthly curse. Time was irrelevant, timekeeping unnecessary, and he had found himself egging the Doctor on to jump through time randomly, to eradicate any sense of time from his consciousness, from his bones.

But if felt good to be back in his own world, albeit not in his own time. He felt strangely confident walking among people who were, after all, his kind. As though through a miracle, he found a small table in the furthest corner of the room. He gestured the waitress over and ordered two rare steaks, two mugs of butter beer and, as an afterthought, two double whiskies. They didn’t have any money on them, but that had never stopped the Doctor from enjoying himself, and Remus felt he rather liked that philosophy.

Seating himself opposite him, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screw driver and was trying to catch some signals. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“Is it working?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Nothing.” His gaze followed a tray laden with empty mugs float across the room to the bar. “There’s no technology here that I’d recognise. No alien life forms, either. Everyone here belongs here.”

Their drinks arrived and Remus took up his whisky, indicating to the Doctor to do the same. They emptied their glasses in silence.

“Except you,” said Remus. He took a sip of his butter beer and gestured the waitress over again. This time, he ordered a whole bottle, there was no point in getting the Doctor only half-drunk.

“Except me,” agreed the Doctor after his third whisky. “But I don’t belong anywhere.” His eyes had taken on a faraway look; Remus couldn’t remember having ever seen him so calm.

Leaning against the wall with his shoulder, Remus poured them both another glass of whisky. “What happened?” he asked.

The Doctor startled back to life. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Gallifrey’s gone,” he said lightly.

“Hm...” said Remus. He nudged the Doctor’s glass towards him.

“My planet,” the Doctor elaborated. “It burnt. I burnt it. I had to.” The sound of voices and laughter, the clunking of cutlery and the occasional crackle of spells flooded in into the space between them after the Doctor’s last words. He stared into space and then said in one breath: “Everybody died, Professor, everybody died.”

“You didn’t,” Remus said softly. He had been travelling with the Doctor long enough to learn how the man operated, about the ruthless streak underneath that exuberant exterior. He should be repelled, but – he wasn’t.

“No, I did, actually,” said the Doctor. All of a sudden, he looked Remus straight in the eye, full of determination, and said: “I died. And then I regenerated. It’s a Time Lord trick.”

“You came back to life?” A tangle of thoughts whirled around in Remus’ mind. Coming back from the dead, it was impossible, it was the Darkest magic known to wizards, it was unfair that the Doctor could do it, had done it, had come back from the dead even when others had not, could not. Choking on the bitterness rising up in his throat, Remus asked: “How?”

“It’s a Time Lord trick,” the Doctor repeated. “We regenerate. When the old body dies, it is replaced by a new one. The body is restructured, I change into a new-”

“-person?” supplied Remus.

“Not really. I’m still the same person, inside. I keep my old memories, my old feelings. But I’m different, too.”

Remus nodded slowly. “I understand, in a way.”

The Doctor leaned in and reached out for Remus’ hand. “I knew you would. Ever since I first met you, I knew you’d understand that.”

Remus felt his lips twist into a cold smile. He wasn’t quite sure what made him so furious; it might have been the Doctor’s sudden vulnerability, which he had elicited, but which he found he could hardly stomach. It was too much, the Doctor confiding in him like that, as though he thought Remus was obliged to understand and to forgive everything. It might have been the effortlessness of immortality; surely, life held no value for the Doctor if he never experienced the fear of the ultimate obliteration. Or perhaps he was just angry that the Doctor seemed to think that they were alike, but that he himself was better, could only be better, with his smug smirk and his poise and his habit of waltzing through time and space and acting as though he owned the place wherever he went. He had no right comparing them both; the Doctor had escaped death time and again, whilst Remus had experienced death time and again.

His blood was pounding and his hands were clammy with sweat as wave after wave of adrenaline rushed through his body, carried on the incessant torrent of blood. The vehemence of the sensation was not unlike that of the transformation, but this one he could control. The ability to control himself sent a surge of power through him. He felt himself going very calm, and his voice didn't waver as he spoke. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t die, is that it? And you’re spending your time travelling across the universe, slumming with the mortals and looking for the next freak show, are you?"

The Doctor’s head snapped up, and Remus didn’t look away. They eyed each other like two cats.

“You’re not a freak,” the Doctor said, and there was force to his words.

That night, they fucked for the first time.

They didn't even make it to any of the rooms. As soon as the TARDIS’ door closed behind them, the Doctor swirled around and faced him. He licked Remus’ neck, from his collarbone to his jaw, and it was amazing how good those slim hips felt under his hands and how well they aligned to his body when Remus pulled him closer and rubbed himself against him. They slithered out of their coats, and the sound of fabric, and their panting and, later, the sound of skin against skin, were the only noises in the room, enveloped by the Tardis’ low purr. So that was what it took to shut him up at last, thought Remus dizzily, burrowing his hand in the Doctor’s trousers. He felt entirely human, all hot skin and sticky hairs, and when he came under Remus’ mouth, he gave a deep groan that didn’t sound alien at all.

Remus wiped his mouth and propped himself up, hovering over the Doctor. When he glanced at his face, he realised the other was watching him with barely concealed hunger on his face. His shirt was unbuttoned and his tie hung loose around his neck. Remus leaned in and licked a trail from his belly button to his mouth. The Doctor beamed at him. “Hello!” he said.

Without breaking the eye contact, Remus lowered himself on top of him, pressing both hands to his chest. “Oh...!”

“Yes,” the Doctor whispered. “It’s a Time Lord thing.”

Two hearts were pounding under Remus’ hands, their beat strong and steady. Remus laughed. “Of all the odd things that I’ve experienced in the last few days – this is quite possibly the oddest one. You really are an alien.”

“I told you so.” He was smiling still, and Remus wanted to lick every single freckle on his face. Instead, he rolled off gently and pulled up his trousers. The Doctor caught his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a bit silly, lying here by the door like that, don’t you think?”

“Oooh, I don’t know. I like silly.”

“So I gather.”

The Doctor seized him around the waist and flipped them both over. “Fancy something more serious?” he purred against Remus’ lips.

Remus pushed both hands into the Doctor’s mop of admittedly very strokable hair. “All right, then,” he said, forcing his head down. “Taste me, Time Lord.”

Time was meaningless in the Tardis. When they resurfaced after what felt like hours of hotwetsweaty writhing, Remus almost expected the Doctor to suggest that they’d casually go back to the Leaky Cauldron and finish their still-warm meal which they could not pay for. The Doctor didn’t speak, however, and, quite out of nowhere, Remus felt utterly, desperately homesick. It was cold now, lying on the bare floor, with his sweat drying on his exposed skin. He rose to his knees and, with still-shaky fingers, fumbled off the Doctor’s tie that was slung around his wrist and tossed it onto the Doctor’s chest.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor. “That was...”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “That was.”

The Doctor stood up smoothly, gathering his clothes around him in the process. “Where can I take you now, Professor?”

“Home,” said Remus.

“How about Barcelona?” said the Doctor. His shirt hung loosely around his skinny frame and he had slung his tie around his neck, but his fingers were already dancing on the console. “Beautiful planet, Barcelona. You’d love it. Its dogs have no noses.”

“What’s the point of being a dog if you don’t have a nose? Their sense of smell is what tells them everything about the world.”

“We-ell,” said the Doctor. “That’s what you humans think. But in fact-“

“I happen to know,” Remus said, “that dogs rely on their sense of smell. Very much so.”

Something about his tone made the Doctor listen up. “Have you ever spoken to one?” he asked. “You have, haven’t you? Is that something you can do when you transform?”

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” said Remus. “When I transform...” he frowned, suddenly very aware that it had been a long time since he had last undergone a transformation. Was that where that strange ache in his bones was coming from? He had been fooling himself, he realised, fooling himself into thinking that, by travelling through time and space, avoiding the moon and its pull, he could get rid of the curse. But Dark magic didn’t work like that. The wolf would not be tricked; it demanded its right, and Remus knew, knew with soul-crushing certainty, that he had to face it tonight.

“When you transform...” the Doctor prompted. He was still rather underdressed, his hair messier than ever, and he was staring at Remus with that expression on his face that he wore whenever he learned something that thrilled him.

“I’ve had that friend who...” Remus said. “Never mind. He knew a lot about dogs.”

“Where is he now?” the Doctor asked softly.

“Dead.” There was an edge to his voice. “You’re not the only one who’s lost everyone, you know.”

“Why do you want to go back, then?”

"I'm engaged." Where did that come from?

“Oh!” The Doctor regarded him silently. “Well...”

"To a woman." Why did he feel he should clarify that?

"Why do you want to marry her?"

"She loves me."

"Do you love her?"

"Does it matter?"

It was the bloody moon, he knew it, that was pulling at him even now, making his blood boil and bubble under his skin. “Oh, fuck,” Remus said. “Fuck!” The Doctor had been talking, but he didn’t hear him, didn’t care anyway. He started to laugh. “All this time, all this care! And the first time you bring me back to Earth, it’s on the full moon!”

“Bugger!” The Doctor gripped his hair frantically, tugging it into disarray. “Can you do anything about it? What if we left, at once?”

Remus shook his head. “Too late. I can feel the moon pulling me. I’ve got to transform now.”

“What would happen if you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t risk it. I cannot.”

“Can you do it here?” That came out a little bit too eager, Remus thought. “In the Tardis,” the Doctor continued. “There’s plenty of room.”

“No. That wouldn’t be safe. You wouldn’t be safe.”

“I can look after myself,” the Doctor said. “I’ll be fine. I always am.”

“I can’t be responsible,” said Remus. “You need to bring me back. To the place and time where we met.”

“That was _after_ the full moon.”

“Bring me back to the night before,” Remus whispered. “I’ve got to transform.”

“You mustn’t meet yourself,” said the Doctor. “That would cause a paradox and destroy the time continuum.”

“I won’t meet myself,” said Remus. “That night... before you met me... I had taken Wolfsbane, I didn’t run with the pack. But tonight...” he shivered, and lowered his head so that his hair swung forward, obscuring his eyes. “Tonight will be different.”

“If you think so,” the Doctor said. He pulled some levers and the Tardis’ familiar whizzing filled the air. Their journey barely took a minute. Remus merely stood there, watching the Doctor wordlessly, watching his movements, so full of grace and purpose, and missing him, painfully, even now.

“Here we are,” said the Doctor quietly. Remus swallowed and turned on his heel. He was halfway to the door when he felt the Doctor’s warm hand on his arm. In the next moment, he was enveloped in a warm embrace, was hugging the Doctor back, and kissing him, kissing him hotly and urgently, and then he pushed him away. The Doctor was wild-eyed, panting open-mouthed. Remus was lightheaded with adrenaline.

“I’ve got to go!” he snarled. The door flew open as he threw himself against it, and then there he was, in the familiar forest, and above him was the moon.

In the distance, he heard the choir of howling voices; Fenrir’s pack was getting ready for the hunt, and in a few minutes, he would be joining them. There was nothing he could do now.

Gathering up the last remnants of human consciousness, he whirled around to catch a last glimpse of the Tardis. It was still there, and the Doctor, stupid alien that he was, stood in the open door. He never took his eyes off him, not when Remus dropped to his knees, not when his bones broke and his whole body twitched, not when the wolf raised its head to scream its pain and fury at the moon. He was prey now, a mere bundle of flesh and blood, and the wolf bolted at him, his fangs bared, snarling and foaming, and he was almost there, could almost feel the brittle bones snapping between his jaws, and then the prey – was gone, and one word reached the wolf’s ears: _Beautiful_.

~*~

Bone-crunching agony and red-hot burning behind his eyelids jolted him back to his senses. Remus groaned and spit out a mouthful of stale blood. He rose shakily onto his hands and knees, willing his head to stop spinning. Stumbling, he fell into a run through the woods, driven by one desire only. He tore through the underwood and, sucking in painful lungfuls of air, stopped dead by a tall pine tree.

His heart leapt into his throat. There. There was the Doctor, crouching by a gorse bush, his face alight with rapture. His hand rested on a curled-up figure on the ground, covered with a light brown coat, and then his words reached Remus’ ears: “I’ve been looking for you.”


End file.
